Howard Hawks

The Crowd Roars (1932)

The Crowd Roars (1932)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, December 2019) There’s a blend of familiarity and strangeness at play in The Crowd Roars that I find quite interesting. On the familiar side, this is a racing film, and it’s directed by Howard Hawks. You get much of what we’ve come to expect from both Hawks (action, tough men and articulate women) and from car racing films. The dramatic arc is intensely melodramatic, but we know where we are and there aren’t many surprises along the way. But there’s an alien quality to The Crowd Roars that makes it interesting as well. As one of the first sound films to look at auto racing, it reflects the rougher, sometimes fatal nature of such events—different cars, different attitudes toward accidents as well. It’s clear that the film comes from a Pre-Code time when the grammar of racing sequences was still being defined—there’s some surprisingly good racing footage here, as well as some jarring rear-projection work that does not do any favours to the actors. James Cagney stars as a borderline-unlikable protagonist, but he doesn’t quite fit the role and isn’t as intense here as other films of the era. Ann Dvorak and Joan Blondell are more interesting as the romantic interests (spurned by the men!)  Hawks’ work here is decent but not overly impressive: he gets the importance of thrilling audiences, but his interest in the film doesn’t seem to extend to the dramatic moments. The Crowd Roar is not an essential film—in many ways, it feels like the kind of material that Warner Brothers churned out by obligation at the time. But it does present an interesting glimpse into racing at the dawn of the 1930s, perhaps the best we have captured on film. Given this, it may be worth a particular look for those interested in cars and their portrayal in Hollywood history.

Viva Villa! (1934)

Viva Villa! (1934)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, October 2019) Hollywood has always had a soft spot for grander-than-life outlaws, mostly because it could make portray them as protagonists even bigger than life and (in the name of entertainment) revel in whatever cool crimes they committed. 1930s Hollywood was just as susceptible, as shown by a number of outlaw movies of which Viva Villa! Is only one example. Here we have Hollywood avowedly magnifying the legend of the famous Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa: a woman in every village, an army of thousands, and an American journalist creating his legend. It’s not exactly subtle, and the film’s treatment of the character is not without a dose of racism: clearly, this is an American perspective on a Mexican story (literally—what would Villa be without the American journalist documenting his actions?) rather than an attempt to show the story from his own perspective. Executed with significant production means, the film features hundreds of extras, a lot of location shooting and grandiose battle sequences, which (combined with the attempt to show a charming rogue, helped along by an exuberant performance by Wallace Beery) help keep the film interesting today … even though it would be completely unacceptable as a new movie today. You can see why Viva Villa! was nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award. Fans of Howard Hawks will appreciate knowing his uncredited contribution to the film, even though director Jack Conway completed the film.

Come and Get It (1936)

Come and Get It (1936)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, August 2019) I’m on a mission to watch the entire Howard Hawks filmography, and at this point in the process, having covered most of his classics, I’m starting to get to his lesser-known films. Come and Get It is one of those, and a bit of an oddball title as he was reportedly fired about two thirds of the way through. Adapted from a novel, it’s a complex and occasionally off-putting story of multi-generational infatuation, as a married lumber baron falls for the daughter of the woman he left behind decades previously. There are multiple complications, to the point of resulting in a messy plot that leaves few people happy when it reaches its ending, spurned would-be adulterous protagonist and all. (Note to modern viewers: The Hays Code was slightly more permissive when filmmakers worked from existing novels, but not that much—which helps explain the film’s jerky and unconvincing morals.)  Considering that Hawks didn’t direct all of Come and Get It, it’s hard to pinpoint his exact contribution, but the spectacular footage of old-school logging operations early in the film was enough to warm my French-Canadian heart and certainly resonates with other Hawks movies. Much of the film’s best moments come early on, what with barroom brawling and sharp scenes to establish the characters. It’s afterwards that Come and Get It seems to lose its way, never quite sure whether to commit to tragedy or romance. (Or to say something about environmental matters, which had been one of Hawks’ initial concerns.)  Three good actors manage to make the film better than its confused screenplay: Edward Arnold as the morally ambiguous protagonist, Joel McCrea as the romantic lead, but especially Frances Farmer in a well-controlled dual role. Walter Brennan is a bit annoying, but that’s his character more than the actor. Despite a fair start, Come and Get It ultimately feels aimless and maybe even a bit cut short—it doesn’t completely capitalize on its strengths, and knowing about its troubled production explains some of the issues.

Scarface (1932)

Scarface (1932)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On TV, June 2019) The real star of Scarface may not be Paul Muni as a Capone-inspired gangster, nor superlative director Howard Hawks, nor legendary screenwriter Ben Hecht, but multi-talented producer Howard Hughes and his instinct for anticipating what the American public really wanted to see. By today’s standards, Scarface is promising but familiar fare—the last ninety years have led to a very large number of gangster pictures offering vicarious thrills by portraying (sometimes with a bit of moralistic tut-tutting) the life of gangsters. Martin Scorsese built a career on such movies, and they seem hardwired in Hollywood’s DNA. Examples reach into the silent era (notably Hughes’ The Racket), but Scarface, along with the slightly earlier Little Caesar and The Public Enemy, helped codify the genre even as real-life gangsters were laying waste to urban areas. It was tremendously successful, and just as influential—all the way to a much better-known 1983 remake penned by Oliver Stone and directed by Brian de Palma. This original is much rougher—hailing from the early days of sound cinema, it does have a wild energy to it, and a good turn from Muni. While modern viewers won’t appreciate the innovation of the film in staging complex action sequences (including some savvy special-effects work!), the result on-screen looks and feels a lot like more modern movies. Pre-Code audiences liked it (even Al Capone was reportedly a fan), but Scarface raised so much controversy that it was shelved by Hugues and effectively disappeared for decades before resurfacing in the post-Production Code 1970s. Now, contemporary audiences can see what had been unavailable to prior generations and appreciate the result for themselves, as a hard-hitting gangster film that pushed the envelope and remains absorbing in itself. I’m sure Hughes would approve.

To Have and to Have Not (1944)

To Have and to Have Not (1944)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) On paper and on the screen, you really have Classic Hollywood running on overdrive in To Have and to Have Not: Let’s see—Howard Hawks directing from a script by William Faulkner from a story/treatment by Ernest Hemingway; Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall as the lead couple, while they were having an affair behind the cameras that would lead to their marriage later on. Coming from Warner Brothers, there’s an obvious kinship here to be made with Casablanca, especially as the story delves into wartime shenanigans between the French Resistance and the Vichy government. Bogart himself clearly plays his own screen persona as the tough and glum smuggler, while Bacall (despite her young age) delivers an exemplary Hawksian-woman performance with more iconic lines of dialogue than most actors get in an entire career. None of this is particularly new (although the Hemingway/Faulkner collaboration is noteworthy), but it’s fun to have another go-around when it works so well—and the Bogart/Bacall chemistry would itself lead to a few encores. Typically for Hawks, there are a few choice quotes, and the direction is limpid, going to the heart of what you can do with Bogart-as-a-rogue and a luminescent Bacall as a strong wartime dame. Not quite noir but certainly not fluffy, To Have and to Have Not is so much fun to watch (although you may want to space your viewing away from Casablanca due to the inevitable parallels) that it ends a bit abruptly, although not without having Bogart shoot a guy, as it should be. The work of several craftsmen all working at the best of their abilities, it’s quite a treat, but also a good example of what the studio system could do when it was firing on all cylinders.

The Big Sky (1952)

The Big Sky (1952)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) Even relatively minor works from Howard Hawks can be interesting, and The Big Sky is the kind of big-budget western shot on location (in black-and-white, alas) that is worth a look even if you don’t like westerns. It’s more of a pioneer movie than a traditional cowboy western—taking place in the Pacific northwest, it features explorers and traders as they head west to befriend natives and establish trading posts. (As such, it’s already more palatable than many horse operas where natives were solely portrayed as bloodthirsty killers.) Much of the film’s action comes from the considerable enmity between the trading companies and the rival native bands. True to facts, there’s a substantial French-Canadian presence here, notably though the character of Jourdonays—although one notes that the actor playing him, Steven Geray, mumbles incomprehensible phonetic French even as the secondary characters speak decent, but European-accented French. Visually, The Big Sky is interesting to look at, and Hawk’s qualities as a sheer entertainer means that there’s almost always something to keep us interested in the film. There’s an interesting romantic arc featuring the ethnically native Elizabeth Threatt in her sole film role. (There’s plenty to quibble in the “native princess kidnapped as a pawn in a trade negotiation” arc, but by 1950s standard this was almost progressive material—the legendary Hawksian woman reinterpreted in that context.)  Acting-wise, the film features Kirk Douglas and Dewey Martin, but all the attention goes to the arresting Threatt and Arthur Hunnicutt’s Oscar-nominated role as a Daniel Boone -type character. On a structural level, the film is slightly less successful, with the last act of the film being an anticlimactic coda after an earlier action climax. Still, it’s worth a look: more interesting than your average 1950s western, The Big Sky indeed opens up possibilities for the western genre that were not often followed up.

Air Force (1943)

Air Force (1943)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) Hollywood churned out many propaganda movies during WW2, but they weren’t all of the same quality. Fortunately, Howard Hawks’ Air Force is among the better ones. Focusing on the camaraderie of a bomber crew on the Pacific front, it’s both representative of the inspiring didactic nature of the WW2 propaganda films, and an opportunity for Hawks to indulge in his usual themes and motifs. (Well, absent the presence of strong female characters.)  As the story moves from the US West Coast to Pearl Harbor and then on to the Philippines, the film remains more entertaining than you would expect from its rushed production schedule. Great miniature special effects work and exceptional editing help in patching a film conceived and executed at breakneck speed in the opening months of the war—it’s no surprise that the dramatic scenes feel out of sync with the action, because more care could be lavished on them than the more practical aspects of the production. Reading about the film’s production (even with official help from the US Air Force), it’s nearly a miracle that the film exists at all, let alone have it reach an acceptable level of watchability. The propagandist nature of the film is more obvious in the blunt-force prologue and epilogue, and toward the end of the film during which the bomber crew not only pulls off an amazing repair job before flying to safety, but also spots a Japanese fleet and spearhead an attack on it; not only shoots down a Japanese fighter plane, but has the pilot burn alive before crashing into an enemy ship and severely damaging it. Whew. Still, even with those not-so-subtle patriotic intentions, Hawks manages to portray a small group of men pulling together through the obstacles in their way—you can fly the flag as high as you want, there’s really no substitute in raising morale than having likable characters coming together in the face of deadly peril.

Twentieth Century (1934)

Twentieth Century (1934)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) I like our modern era and wouldn’t go back to an era of information scarcity, racial segregation, and polio for anything in the world, but there are a few characteristics of the 1930s that I would like to see revived, and long-distance train journeys throughout North America are certainly one of them. Fortunately, there are movies such as Twentieth Century to illustrate what we’re missing. In this Howard Hawks comedy, the mayhem gets going as an actress boards a train going from Chicago to New York City, and encounters her ex-impresario. He, after a string of flops, is eager to get her to sign up for his next play … but there are complications: many, many complications played aboard the train as it makes its overnight trip, with zany characters to colour the proceedings. Handled through Hawks’ trademark speed and rapid-fire dialogue, Twentieth Century is a pure pre-Code screwball comedy, as blistering fast as modern movies and with dialogue so delicious that it has a strong re-watchability factor. It certainly helps to have John Barrymore onboard, going over-the-top as a grandiose, domineering, overly dramatic Broadway mogul. Playing opposite him in her breakout role is none other than Carole Lombard as the actress in the middle of the interleaved subplots. Adapted from a Broadway play, the film does remains bound to its train setting—presenting Hawks with few opportunities to break out of its confines, but that works better than you’d expect as the film becomes a multi-room theatrical play where the comic action takes centre stage. While the beginning of the film is relatively slow, it quickly speeds up along the pace of its train setting—and it never gets better than when Lombard and Barrymore get in screaming matches with each other. It’s not the best Hawks comedy, but it’s still really enjoyable even now. The Pre-Code nature of the film is muted compared to other films of the era (indeed, the film was among the first to get notes from the Hays Office), but you can still see a few racier references to religious icons and a revealing lingerie shot. Still, Twentieth Century has no need for racy material when its crowd-pleasing fundamentals are so well handled: It’s still a great movie, and deserves its perennial high rankings in the lists of the best 1930s movie comedies.

Only Angels have Wings (1939)

Only Angels have Wings (1939)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, March 2019) There are a few Howard Hawks movies that I like better than Only Angels have Wings, but it does bring together a lot of what made Hawks such a compelling director. It’s a rip-roaring adventure featuring tough guys, as it focuses on a South American airmail company featuring intrepid pilots and dangerous planes. Cary Grant headlines the cast as the head pilot and manager of the small, almost bankrupt company. There’s some hope in the form of a new contract, but achieving it will mean death-defying mountain flying. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s romantic tension thanks to a newly arrived singer (Jean Arthur) and the protagonist’s ex-flame (Rita Hayworth). The mountain passes are treacherous and the planes are underpowered, but the mail must go through no matter how many special-effect crash sequences this means. Directed and partially written by Hawks, Only Angels have Wings clearly shows him working in his element, with a group of tough men and equally tough women working at the frontier of human ingenuity. The dialogue is smart, the pacing is fast, and there’s enough humour and romance to enliven what remains a manly adventure story. The special effects are surprisingly good and impressive for the time. The result is liable to fascinate early aviation fans, even despite the limited means of the time. Grant is his usual charismatic self, with good support from Arthur and a short but eye-catching role for Hayworth (in what is often considered her breakout film). An essential part of the Hawks filmography, Only Angels have Wings still has enough thrills and charm to be worth a look by twenty-first century audiences … like much of Hawk’s filmography.

Hatari! (1962)

Hatari! (1962)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(In French, On Cable TV, February 2019) There are a number of very entertaining stories about the making of Hatari! and the most believable of them is that the script was practically written during shooting, given that so much of the movie depended on the unpredictable actions of wild animals. It certainly shows in the herky-jerky nature of the film, in which wild animal catchers in deep Africa alternate game-hunting sessions with quieter drama back at the camp. In a way, the haphazard plot doesn’t really matter: we’re left in an unusual environment, with a director focused on entertainment and big-name stars seemingly having fun. Considering that Hatari! is directed by then-veteran Howard Hawks and stars none other than John Wayne, it’s no surprise if it harkens to the 1940s with its square-jawed male roles and subservient female roles. Making heroes out of big-game catchers working to supply zoos with wild animals ensures that both their methods and goals are reprehensible by modern standards. Then there’s John Wayne in his usual borderline-repellent persona—it’s astonishing to see the movie present him as a romantic lead to an actress nearly thirty years his junior. As a result, I can’t say that I like Hatari! as much as most of the other movies in Hawks’ filmography—but even I have to admit that the hunting footage is nothing short of spectacular, and that the film does an intriguing job in creating a plot to go around the actions of the animals. Elsa Martinelli is captivating in the lead female role, but the best reason to watch the film is to see a well-oiled Hollywood production run against the vagaries (and dangers) of filming alongside wild animals and then figure out how to deal with that captured footage. Amusingly enough, this is the movie for which Henry Mancini’s famous “Baby Elephant Walk” was written.

The Spirit of St. Louis (1957)

The Spirit of St. Louis (1957)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, February 2019) Considering Hollywood’s enduring love affair for American heroes (even if we have to scrub a bit of their non-heroics along the way), it was inevitable that sooner or later, Charles Lindbergh would be brought to the forefront with The Spirit of St. Louis. And while James Stewart was far too old at 49 to play Lindbergh (who was 25 at the time of the film’s event), you have to take into account Stewart’s obvious enthusiasm and technical qualifications to play the role of an experienced flyer—as a draftee and then a reserve officer, he flew bombers from WW2 to the Vietnam War. The script focuses tightly on Lindbergh’s trip and not so much on the less heroic aspects of his later life, but as co-written by Billy Wilder The Spirit of St. Louis becomes a fascinating aeronautical procedural as Lindbergh works to develop the plane that will carry him from one side of the Atlantic to the other, and then wait patiently for a good weather opportunity even as others are also racing to make the trip. Director Howard Hawks is in his element here as he describes the relationship between Lindbergh and his plane during the gruelling transatlantic flight. Even the film’s length and overused voiceovers help us feel the isolation and experimental nature of the solo trip. The predictable shout-outs to divine power become annoying, but the film’s clever structure keeps things more interesting than a strictly chronological approach would have done. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the film is how it manages to create suspense out of a story that everyone knows, with a foreordained conclusion. The Spirit of St. Louis is certainly not a perfect film, but it does create something very entertaining out of three legendary creators (Wilder, Hawks, Stewart) and a landmark historical event.

Rio Bravo (1959)

Rio Bravo (1959)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, February 2019) As the story goes, Rio Bravo was director Howard Hawks and star John Wayne’s response to High Noon’s deconstruction of western heroism. Unable to tolerate even the slightest amount of criticism (you should read Wayne’s hyperbolic commentary), they teamed up like fearful clucking hens to reconstruct the Western archetype. (They clearly had no idea of what was in store in later years.) Despite my lack of sympathy for their intentions, even I have to admit that Rio Bravo is rather well done in the end. It’s a straight-up formula with a sadistic macho streak of bloodthirstiness as confused with American values (and I’m being charitable in drawing a distinction between the two), but Howard handles it with his usual energy, and Wayne delivers exactly what his creepy robotic persona was designed to do. Rather than look in vain for help from an apathetic population as in High Noon, here we have a sheriff with an overabundance of help as they wait for the enemy attack on their small western town. (Wayne being Wayne, it goes without saying that his character is proven right at every turn of the story.) The overindulgence of the film’s intentions most clearly shows in the film’s inflated run-time at two hours and twenty minutes—there’s no good reason for the film to run this long, but it does. (It doesn’t help that, with two of his actors being also singers, the film pauses for songs. Yes, really.) Fortunately for everyone, most of the film’s interminable lengths come early in the film, leaving the concluding act far better and involving than the rest of the film once the laborious scene-setting ends and we go to the main event promised all along. “Go out of a high note” is the usual tip for filmmakers, and Hawks was too much of a veteran by that point in his career to do otherwise. Despite an overstuffed script, Rio Bravo eventually pulls off a success … but don’t stop watching after the first hour or you’ll never get there.

Sergeant York (1941)

Sergeant York (1941)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, January 2019) Not having seen all of Howard Hawks’ filmography, I’m not entirely qualified to say that he’s never made a bad movie, but Sergeant York is a powerful argument that he’s made at least one average one. This is from a contemporary perspective, of course: Back in 1941, Sergeant York was the perfect combination of a veteran director, a superstar actor and the story of a famous WW1 hero. The titular Alvin York was (and remains) a legend in American military history—a rural God-fearing boy who became a soldier reluctantly, but ended the war with an impressive marksmanship record and the Medal of Honor. The film does dive into the duality of York’s character as being both very religious and a terrifying marksman, but does end up chalking it up to divine intervention. That played by gangbusters back in 1941, but from a contemporary perspective this is squarely a propaganda film: the values espoused here happen to be the perfect values to convince a generation of boys to enlist in the looming WW2—humility, obedience, marksmanship and as few moral qualms about killing as many enemies as possible even if you have to go through impressive rationalizations to keep both your bible and your rifle. Gary Cooper is up to his usual all-American bland self: solid without taking up much of the spotlight, an ideal model for the impressionable audience. There are many, many intriguing points of comparison between Sergeant York and the 2014 American Sniper if anyone cares to look. It doesn’t help the film’s blunt-edged persuasive intent that it feels very long, especially—surprisingly!—toward the end when everything should be wrapping up. It’s easy to see why the film was a smash hit upon release, but it has aged far less gracefully than many of its contemporaries, especially for non-American audiences. If Sergeant York still works today, it’s largely because of Hawks’ skills and Cooper’s charisma.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On TV, November 2018) As someone who doesn’t go crazy for blondes, I’m less susceptible than most to Marilyn Monroe’s charms. But she could be a hilarious comedienne when given the right material, and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) is as good a showcase for her brand of humour as anything else I’ve seen her in so far. Helmed by the always-excellent Howard Hawks, this is a Hollywood musical from the golden age, as two women make their transatlantic way to Paris in search of husbands and their fortunes. “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” and Monroe’s Pink Dress are set-pieces of the film, the song reprised more than once. Monroe is very, very funny as the ditzy but clever heroine, while Jane Russell is spectacular as her brunette friend—her “Ain’t There Anyone Here for Love” number (complete with a surprising amount of cheekiness) is a highlight. Maybe a bit lighter on songs than you’d expect from a 1950s Hollywood musical comedy, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) is heavier on comedy. All of this plays quite well to Monroe’s comedic talents—the film is her showcase even if I prefer Russell on general principles. The gender roles of the film are hopelessly dated, of course (the film is based on a 1940s Broadway musical itself based on a 1920s comic novel, explaining some of the material such as crossing the Atlantic on an ocean liner) but once you get into the 1950s frame of mind, anyone will realize that the heroines are really the masters of the plot, playing their hands as skillfully as they can. That kind of agency (need we go over the Hawks woman archetype again?) certainly helps Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) survive well through the decades, offering many of the same pleasures that audiences of the 1950s enjoyed while watching the film.

The Thing from Another World (1951)

The Thing from Another World (1951)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2018) As far as reputations go, The Thing from Another World is most famous for being the predecessor to John Carpenter’s The Thing—both adapted from the same John Campbell short story, both about finding a murderous alien encased in ice. But whereas Carpenter’s 1982 movie was a conscious exercise in terror, The Thing from Another World is a far gentler affair, a thriller in which a man-in-a-suit is electrocuted before posing too much of a threat. But a softer version of the same story doesn’t necessarily mean that the film is without its own merits. From the surprisingly effective opening title card, The Thing from Another World is a surprise example of good execution. The technical details ring true, there are a few scenes of substantial impact (the overhead shot of the melted ice being one) and the pacing is more effective than expected. While the nearly all-male-and-white cast isn’t particularly distinguishable, there’s an amiable sense of teamwork to the story (quite a contrast with the 1982 version!) and Margaret Sheridan brings a touch of warmth and humanity with her banter with protagonist-pilot Kenneth Tobey. It’s not all good (the parallels with Soviet invasions and the mad-scientist shtick have not aged well), but The Thing from Another World is generally better than most of the alien-invasion SF movies of the fifties. Christian Nyby reportedly directed, although many agree that legendary producer Howard Hawks played a large role in the film’s production. This may explain the sophistication of the end result despite a trite premise—and a film that still works reasonably well even today.